End of the Empire
by TootieFrootie
Summary: Book three of the Inheritance Trilogy Eragon travels with Roran to Helgrind to save his sweetheart, while running into Ra’zac, Lethrblaka, Galbatorix’s remaining Urgals, and perhaps a shade?FULL SUMMARY INSIDE! READ IT! Bad at summaries,great at stories!


**_Author:_** TootieFrootie

**_Title:_** Empire

**_Rating: _**T / Pg-13 (for now)

**_Chapter: _**( I ) Helgrind

**_Summary:_** Book Three of the Inheritance Trilogy--- Eragon travels with Roran to Helgrind to save his sweetheart, while running into Ra'zac, Lethrblaka, Galbatorix's remaining Urgals, and perhaps a shade? He discovers the new rider along the way, a mysterious sly elf with immense power. Not knowing whether good or evil, he travels with the elf on a perilous journey back to the elven city Ellesmera, and journeys on forth to discover the world beyond Alagaesia, trying to find powerful allies even Galbatorix never even heard of and overcome enemies and discover strange, dark creatures; all the while trying to defeat and break Murtagh's hold from the Empire and train for the final battle against the Empire and to defeat Galbatorix. Can the new rider be trusted? Can Eragon find allies and not enemies? The dragon's soon will be wiped out, and can Saphira be able to save the line? Are the elves all that Eragon, and even the elves themselves, think they are? Will Eragon have a long happy life with no Empire, or a brutal savage death with Galbatorix still ruling over Alagaesia and wiping the existence of dragons? Adventure, mystery, darkness, power, greed; all is not well for Eragon and Saphira, and they might just not make it out of it—but there is someone who can for them, someone who will help Eragon defeat the empire, but darkness looms behind every corner; including the most powerful substance on earth: The Heart.

**_Author's Note: _**I have loved The Inheritance Trilogy from the first page I read in Eragon. When I finished book two, my head was exploding with ideas and what might happen, and since I love writing Fan Fictions, I thought why not write down the third book? So here I am to tell you my story. Reviews are amazing, and I don't care what type of review. You are all entitled to your own opinions. Will appreciate constructive critiscm as well; it helps me.

Story takes place after third chapter from book three (You can find this third chapter at the end of your second book. ) I typed it up for you guys though to make it easier for you guys because I love all of you. :)

Yes, I have used the **_exact_** words found in the meanings in the list of meanings for the Ancient Language and Dwarf language. I have made up some for Urgal Language, and my new characters' Language. For Ancient Language and Dwarf, I will put the meaning next to it. Some words I might have to make up, but I will put the meaning next to it.

**_Disclaimer:_** I do not own any of the characters, Alagaesia, or languages; they all belong to the amazing C. Paolini

**_Copyright:_** I do own all of my made-up characters, languages, and new lands. Copyrighting is not a good idea; especially for my stories. I take it seriously, so it would be nice if you guys respected that, and instead of copying my ideas, let people know about my story. Many thanks,

© TootieFrootie

**_Dedication: _**Dedicated to the wonderful Christopher Paolini who brought this to life, and to one of my best friend's Ameera whom I annoyed a lot with my ideas. Thanks, hun for everything (especially since you had to cope with my annoying-ness.) and thanks very much to the author of "Galbatorix is lame" (even though you don't know me). You made my life happier with your story. :)

Enjoy,

And remember, I typed up the third chapter for you guys from book three so its easier for you guys. © of C. Paolini for it

.oO0()0Oo.

( An Excerpt from the Third Chapter of the Third book of the Inheritance Trilogy)

Saphira kneaded the soil beneath her feet. _Let us be off!_

Leaving their bags and supplies hanging from the branch of a juniper tree, Eragon and Roran clambered onto Saphira's back. They wasted no time saddling her; she had worn her tack through the night. The molded leather was warm, almost hot, underneath Eragon. He clutched the neck spike in front of him—to steady himself during sudden changes in direction—while Roran hooked one thick arm around Eragon's waist and brandished his hammer with the other.

A piece of shale crack under Saphira's weight as she settled into a low crouch and then, in a single giddy bound, leaped up to the rim of the gulch, where she balanced for a moment before un-folding her massive wings. The thin membranes thrummed as Saphira raised them towards the sky. Vertical, they looked like two translucent blue sails.

"Not so tight," grunted Eragon.

"Sorry," said Roran. He loosened his embrace.

Further speech became impossible as Saphira jumped again. When she reached the pinnacle of her jump, she brought her wings down with a might whoosh, driving the three of them even higher. With each subsequent flap, they climbed closer to the flat, narrow clouds that extended east to west.

As Saphira angled toward Helgrind, Eragon glanced to his left and discovered that, because of their elevation, he could see a broad swath of Leona Lake some miles distant. A thick layer of mist, gray and ghostly in the pre-dawn glow, emanated from the water, as if witchfire burned upon the surface of the liquid. Eragon tried, but even with his hawk like vision, he could not make out the far shore, nor the southern reaches of the Spine beyond, which he regretted. He had not laid eyes upon the mountain range of his childhood since leaving Palancar Valley.

To the north stood Dras-Leona, a huge, rambling mass that appeared as a black silhouette against the wall of mist that edged its western flank. The one building Eragon could identify was the cathedral where the Ra'zac had attacked him; its flanged spire loomed above the rest of the city, like a barbed spearhead.

And somewhere in the landscape that rushed past below, Eragon knew, where the remnants of the campsite where the Ra'zac had mortally wounded Brom. He allowed all of his anger and grief over the events of that day—as well as Garrow's murder and the destruction of their farm—to surge forth and give him courage, nay the_ desire_, to face the Ra'zac in combat.

_Eragon,_ Said Saphira._ Today we need not guard our minds and keep thoughts secret from on another, do we?_

_Not unless another magician should appear._

A fan of golden light flared into existence as the top of the sun crested the horizon. In an instant, the full spectrum of colors enlivened the previously drab world: the mist glowed white, the water became a rich blue, the daubed-mud wall that encircled the center of Dras-Leona revealed its dingy yellow sides, the trees cloaked themselves in every shade of green, and the soil blushed red and orange. Helgrind, however, remained as it always was—black.

The mountain of stone rapidly grew larger as they approached. Even from the air, it was intimidating.

Diving toward the base of Helgrind, Saphira tilted so far to her left, Eragon and Roran would have fallen if they had not already strapped their legs to the saddle. Then she whipped around the apron of scree over the altar where the priest of Helgrind observed their ceremonies. The lip of Eragon's helm caught the wind from her passage and produced a howl that almost deafened him.

"Well?" shouted Roran. He could not see in front of them.

"The slaves are gone!"

A great weight seemed to press Eragon into his seat as Saphira pulled out of her dive and spiraled up around Helgrind, searching for an entrance to the Ra'zac's hideout.

_Not even a hole big enough for a woodrat_, she declared. She slowed and hung in lace before a ridge that connected the third lowest of the four peaks to the prominence above. The jagged buttress magnified the boom produced by each stroke of her wings until it was as loud as a thunderclap. Eragon's eyes watered as the air pulsed against his white skin.

A web of white veins adorned the backside of the crags and pillars, where hoarfrost had collected in the cracks that furrowed the rock. Nothing else disturbed the gloom of Helgrind's inky, windswept ramparts. No trees grew there among the slanting stones, nor shrubs, nor grass, nor moss, nor lichen, nor did eagles dare nest upon the tower's broken ledges. True to its name, Helgrind was a place of death, and stood cloaked in the razor-sharp, saw-toothed folds of its scarps and clefts like a bony specter risen to haunt the earth.

Casting his mind outward, Eragon confirmed the presence of one of the slaves, as well as the two people whom he had discovered imprisoned within Helgrind the previous day, but to his concern, he could not locate the Ra'zac or the Lethrblaka. _If they aren't here, then where? _He wondered. Searching again, he noticed something that had eluded him before: a single flower, a gentian, blooming not fifty feet in front of them where, by all rights, where ought to be solid rock. _How does it get enough light to live?_

Saphira answered his question by perching on a crumbling spur several feet to the right. As she did, she lost her balance for a moment and flared her wings to steady herself. Instead of brushing against the bulk of Helgrind, the tip of her right wing dipped into the rock and then back out again.

_Saphira, did you see that!_

_I did._

Leaning forward, Saphira pushed the tip of her snout toward the sheer rock, paused an inch or two away—as if waiting for a trap to spring—then continued her advance. Scale by scale, Saphira's head slid into Helgrind, until all that was visible of her to Eragon was a neck, torso, and wings.

_It's an illusion!_ exclaimed Saphira.

With a surge of her might thews, she abandoned the spur and flung the rest of her body after her head. It required of Eragon's self control not to cover his face in a desperate bid to protect himself as the crag rushed toward him.

An instant later, he found himself looking at a borad, vaulted cave suffice with a warm glow of the morning. Saphira's scales refracted the light, casting thousands of shifting of blue flecks across the rock. Twisting around, Eragon saw no wall behind him, only the mouth of the cave and a sweeping view of the landscape beyond.

Eragon grimaced. It had never occurred to him that Galbatorix might have hidden the Ra'zac's lair with magic. _Idiot! I have to do better_, he thought. Underestimating the king was a sure way to get them all killed.

Roran swore and said, "Warn me before you do something like that again."

Hunching forward, Eragon unbuckled his legs from the saddle as he studied their surroundings, alert for any danger.

The opening to the cave was an irregular oval, perhaps fifty feet high and sixty feet wide. From there, the chamber expanded to twice that size before ending a good bowshot away in a pile of thick stone slabs that leaned against each other in the confusion of uncertain angles. A mat of powder-gray scratches defaced the door, evidence of the many Lethrblaka had taken off, landed, and walked about thereon. Like mysterious, keyholes, five low tunnels pierced the side of the cave, as did a lancet passageway large enough to accommodate Saphira. Eragon examined the tunnels carefully, but they were pitch-black and appeared vacant, a fact he confirmed with quick thrusts of his mind. Strange disjointed murmurs echoed from within Helgrind's innards, suggesting unknown _things _scurrying about in the dark, and endlessly dripping water. Adding to the chorus of whispers was the steady rise and fall of Saphira's breathing, which was overloud in the confines of the bare chamber.

The most distinctive feature of the cavern, however, was the mixture of odors that pervaded it. The smell of cold stone dominated, but underneath it, Eragon discerned whiffs of damp and mold and something far worse: the sickly-sweet fetor of rotting meat.

Undoing the last few straps, Eragon swung his right leg over Saphira's spine, so he was sitting sidesaddle, and prepared to jump off her back. Roran did the same on the opposite side.

Before he released his hold, Eragon heard, amid the many rustlings that teased his ear, a score of simultaneous clicks, as if someone had struck rock with a collection of hammers. The sound repeated itself a half-second later.

He looked in the direction of the noise, as did Saphira.

A huge, twisted shape hurtled out of the lancet passageway. Eyes black, bulging, rimless. A beak seven feet long. Batlike wings. The torso naked, hairless, rippling with muscle. Claws like iron spikes.

Saphira lurched as she tried to evade the Lethrblaka, but to no avail. The creature crashed into her right side with what felt to Eragon like the stretch and fury of an avalanche.

What exactly happened next, he knew not, for the impact sent him tumbling through space without so much as a half-formed thought in his jumbled brain. His blind flight ended as abruptly as it began when something hard and flat rammed against the back of him, and he dropped to the floor, banging his head a second time.

The last collision drove the remaining air clean out of Eragon's lungs. Stunned, he lay curled on his side, gasping and struggling to regain a semblance of control over hi unresponsive limbs.

_Eragon!_ Cried Saphira.

(End of Excerpt. © of Christopher Paolini)

oO0()0Oo

Eragon couldn't understand what was going on. Not like most of his dreams when he fell away from the world, he drifted through mass clouds that screamed thunder and shone bright with lightning. He felt rippling pain from his back to his neck every time the drumbeats of colliding clouds sounded. It felt too as though the very lightning in his dreams kept striking at his head. Immense pain enveloped him, and he couldn't even escape it in his sleep.

He screamed in agony with every beat and shine, wanting it to stop.

The worst of it all, though, was that there was a voice that kept following him. He could see where the voice was coming from; rays of bright light shone through the thunderclouds, and the voice kept calling to him. It annoyed him how even though he wanted to go toward the light, he couldn't with all the clouds blocking the way.

Another lightning struck his head, but he had no more left in him to scream.

Finally, the voice grew so loud, the part of the clouds made an opening, and bright light shone through. Eragon cringed as he flew near it, for the light did not hold warmth or ease; it was just rigid and full of hatred and it sounded upset.

_Eragon! Eragon, you must awaken!_ shouted Saphira. Eragon blinked as he finally recognized the voice that was calling him. Sighing, he flew into the ray of light, and up it.

Then, the clouds and the source of the light just crumbled away like sand in an hour glass.

Eragon was blinking away tears as he lay down on a cold marble floor, trying to ignore the pain. He looked around warily. The first thing he saw was Saphira standing next to him, but she wasn't looking at him with concern the way she always looked when Eragon fell. Instead, her head was turned to in front of her, looking at something Eragon couldn't see. Her once clear blue eyes now raged with anger and hatred; it looked as though streaks of red where moving around in her iris. Roran stood behind Saphira, with the same look on his face. He clutched his hammer fiercely; his knuckles know a pale white.

The walls and ceiling and floor next to him, Eragon noticed, where a pale black. _We're still in Helgrind._ He flinched at the thought, but he knew it was true has a heard more simultaneous clicks.

"Risa, Shur'tugal. Onr wyrda atra waise rauthr gang du Varden." (Rise, rider. Your fate may be a misfortune to the Varden.) A chill voice rang threw his ears, but with the command from the Ancient Language, he was forced to stand up. Wearily, he held onto Saphira for support as he stood on his numb legs. He felt her growl with hatred at the commander for it had caused him pain.

Even with the small amount of energy he had in him, Eragon gasped at the person in front of him.

A tall, lean figure stood in front of them. The hood for the dark-brown cloak hung low over his face, shadowing it in pitch black darkness. All Eragon could see was the pale, pink lips of the cloaked-one. As soon as he heard Eragon gasp though, he lifted his head slightly to show Eragon his eyes. Even though his entire face was shadowed in pitch black, his lips and now eyes shone vibrantly, but what caught Eragon off-guard was the color of the irises. It was a pallid, deep red that pierced into Eragon's mind. Immediately, Eragon built up shields around his mind in a feeble attempt to prevent him from coming threw, but it was hard. The cloaked-one destroyed every barrier easily, that was until one of the Ra'zac caught his attention. Eragon noticed that three Ra'zac's and two Lethrblaka's stood behind the cloaked figure, including the one that had attacked them. Eragon could tell which one it was for there was a large gaping wound on sensitive part of the Lethrblaka's side, obliviously Saphira's work. Eragon was relieved though when one of the Ra'zac began clicking, for that had distracted the figure that was now making similar clicking sounds to the monster.

_Eragon, guard your mind carefully; I will help. Be careful, for I think this is another Shade. _Saphira said quickly. Eragon almost screamed out at this.

_Another one is working for Galbatorix? Durza was hard enough, and I'm sure Galbatorix trained this one more than Durza ever knew._

_I'm afraid so, little one. The Shade also seems to be able to speak in many languages._

_I've noticed that. It's one of the few things that disturb me._

" Finally," the Shade finished, and turned once again around to face Eragon, Saphira, and Roran, " I finally get to meet the acclaimed Rider. I've been training hard for this day, and thanks to Sloan and the hostage along with the Ra'zac, I knew you and your cousin would soon be running straight toward Dras-Leona to save said hostage. Isn't that right, _Eragon?_" The Shade spat his name disgustingly, and the Ra'zac behind it made a strange sound. Eragon guessed they were laughing.

Then came the rough sound of metal on steel came as the Shade unsheathed two hand-and-a-half swords, one in each hand. In the left hand, the sword was black while in the right hand, the sword was a bright white; yet each blade had writing on it in a blood-red color. The Shade tilted his head down, so that know his eyes disappeared and all that remained was his lips that were placed in a smirk. Eragon knew what was coming, and so did Saphira.

"Fight, Shur'tugal, and show me what the pathetic elves have taught you." The Shade rasped, walking slightly toward to the three of them. Instinctively, Eragon reached over to his belt, but then realized his misfortune. Murtagh had taken Zar'roc from him in the battle of Du Vollar Eldrvarya, or the Burning Plains. He had brought the elven bow with him, but it had fallen off his back when he crashed, and now lay several feet behind him, but he couldn't move.

Saphira, noticing this, lunged forward at the Shade.

"Skolir!" The shade shouted, flinging his sword as a tense shield protected him. It was too fast for Saphira, and she collided into the invisible barrier. It came to Eragon that the Shade might not really be a Shade. Shade's used the souls of the dead and so on for power, not magic from the Ancient Language.

Saphira shook her head like a horse that was trying to get rid of a fly.

"Heill" (heal) Eragon whispered, touching her, and the pain left Saphira's head where she bumped it. Eragon understood what it was like for your head to ram into something hard, but he was now weaker than before to heal himself.

"So this," the figure spoke, walking around in his shield, "is the mighty Rider and dragon the rebellion depends on. You are both nothing more than slightly-powerful children that have been brought into the world with a burden. I should just kill you both now, and rid you of it. The lord will make Alagaesia a better place once he gets rid of the rebellion."

"Go ahead, coward! What kind of enemy hides behind a shield?!" Roran shouted angrily, waving his hammer. The figure noticed Roran now, and it only grinned. Roran gulped as the figure lowered away the shield.

"Malthinae," (bind) it waved his left hand, and suddenly Roran's whole body became rigid as an invisible chain bound him tightly, "Thrysta vindr" (compress the air) it said a second time. Roran's face turned purple as he gasped for breath and began chocking.

"NO! Blothr!!" (stop) Eragon shouted, trying to stop it from killing Roran, but for some reason, he couldn't even move his legs. _That coward hexed me without my knowledge! _Eragon realized, and so did Saphira seconds later. Saphira roared with rage at the figure, and sent a stream of fire at it. Apparently, it had forgotten dragon's could breathe fire.

It released Roran, Eragon, and Saphira's hold as it ducked out of the way from the fire. It cursed loudly, and made a loud clicking sound. Immediately, the Ra'zac and Lethrblaka lunged forward at the three of them as the figure darted to the back, trying to heal the slight burn on its arm it obtained.

Eragon dived at his arrows and quiver behind him, and kept stabbing the Ra'zac and Lethrblaka wherever and however he could without a sword. He knew, even with Saphira, that they couldn't win; they only had a slight chance of surviving.

"Adurna!" Eragon shouted, pointing his hand at one of the charging Ra'zac. A stream of water flowed out at the Eragon, drowning the Ra'zac. It screamed eerily until the stream stopped, but it still stood there standing. _Oops…they're afraid of deep water, not water itself! _Eragon thought stupidly, and now the attacked Ra'zac charged with anger at Eragon.

Helgrind hall was now a confusion of Ra'zac, Lethrblaka, Rider, Dragon, and Villager as enemies clashed together, trying to defeat the other. Eragon glanced to the back, but could not find the figure.

"Stop, stop, STOP!! BLOTHR!!!!" Someone shouted loudly, and immediately, the fighting stopped. All eyes, human and non-human, drifted toward the north-western hall where a grumpy, tear-stricken beggar stood, eyes wide with humiliation and grief.

"S—…Sloan?!" Eragon's eyebrows shot up as he recognized the old butcher. He heard Roran growl behind him, but ignored it. He could not get his eyes off him, for he had changed. As soon as he heard his name, he sighed and nodded gravely.

The Ra'zac seemed upset, but dared not to move. It was strange to Eragon, but Roran had told him how they had obeyed Sloan.

"SLOAN!" Eragon shouted, stepping forward. The former butcher whipped around, and came face-to-face with the figure who had one large sword raised above Sloan's head, ready to thrust.

.oO0()0Oo.

There's the first chapter for my third book. Reviews are nice; any kind. Your all entitled to your own opinion. Will update as soon as I can, but I have to sleep now :P

Happy Reading.

( .) TootieFrootie (. )


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